


Bittersweet

by Selkit



Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Community: rarewomen, Family Dynamics, Father-Daughter Relationship, Gen, Growing Up, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-05
Updated: 2014-05-05
Packaged: 2018-01-21 22:09:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,005
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1565780
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Selkit/pseuds/Selkit
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sigrid is no stranger to waiting for her father. But this time, everything feels different.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bittersweet

**Author's Note:**

  * For [loch_ness](https://archiveofourown.org/users/loch_ness/gifts).



> I was just about done writing this when I realized I might have messed up by writing a fic set after the book/final movie, because I don't know if my recipient has read the book or not. If you haven't, then I apologize for the obvious spoilers!

The chill seeped through Sigrid’s dress as she leaned back against the stone wall, and she winced, hissing under her breath. Down the hallway, one of the palace guards glanced up at the noise, and Sigrid forced her fidgeting to still as she met the man’s eyes. She dipped her head in a tiny nod, putting on the noble lady’s smile that had become as well-practiced as breathing in the months since her father had slain the dragon and become Lord of Dale.

Her smile had the desired effect. The guard nodded back at her before returning to his vigilant surveillance of the hallway, and Sigrid indulged in a small sigh of relief. 

The last thing she wanted was for one of the guards, well-meaning though they were, to pepper her with questions about why she was loitering outside her father’s chambers at this hour of the evening. 

She edged off the wall and repositioned herself on the bench, crossing her ankles and bending over the book spread in her lap. The words would have interested her at any other time, yet now they bumped together on the page and buzzed in her mind like a summer swarm of gnats, and she resisted the childish urge to slam the book’s cover shut.

For the hundredth time, the nerves jangled and fluttered in her stomach like leaves swept up by a sudden wind, and for the hundredth time she scolded herself with a litany that had become familiar as her Ma’s old fairy stories.

“You have nothing to be worried about,” she whispered to herself, lips barely moving, lest she draw the guard’s attention again. “It’s a simple conversation with Da, that’s all. Just like the thousands of other conversations you’ve had with him. Stop being such a silly goose.”

She imagined the last sentence in Tilda’s playful girlish voice, and it brought a smile to her lips, almost driving off the constant needling pang of anxiety.

Almost. 

Minutes passed, and she was halfway through the whispered reassurances again when footsteps interrupted her. Her breath caught mid-word, and she jerked her head up, watching the Lord of Dale walk down the hallway with another pair of guards trailing several paces behind. She jolted upright from the bench, her hand darting out at the last moment to save the forgotten book from clattering to the floor. 

“Father,” she called. 

Bard paused, steps away from his chamber door, and turned to face her. For the first time she noticed how tired he looked, his face creased with dark lines that had been absent when she’d last seen him, but his eyes warmed with a smile when he caught sight of her. 

“Sigrid,” he returned, and opened his arms to her as she approached. She resisted the urge to quicken her pace, keeping her steps sedate and composed as the distance closed. Running and throwing herself into her father’s embrace was for the shabby bargeman’s brat of years past, not for the daughter of a king. Yet as she nestled her face against his shoulder, the fine leather of his tunic cool beneath her cheek, a measure of her anxiety eased.

“Have you been standing out here waiting for me?” Bard asked, his voice muffled by her hair. At her nod he drew back, brow furrowing as he looked down at her. “For how long?”

“Not very,” Sigrid said quickly, but her voice was a little too bright. Her father tilted his head, fixing her with the well-worn look of paternal skepticism she’d seen many times over the years, and she resisted the urge to shuffle her feet. “About an hour,” she amended, brushing at an invisible wrinkle in her skirt to keep her restless hands occupied. “Perhaps two.”

“Sigrid,” Bard said, his tone laced with dismay and gentle reproach. “You know you can always come and see me in my study if you need to speak with me.”

She bit her lip, and her fingers stuttered over the seam of her dress, but she raised her head to meet her father’s eyes. “Can I truly, though? Everything is so different now—you’re the most important person in all of Dale. _Everyone_ wants to speak with you. Would all of your lords and advisors look favorably on having their important meetings interrupted by a girl seeking her father’s attention?”

“Not just a girl,” Bard said. “A princess of Dale.” Yet his eyes shifted, avoiding hers, and the shadows crept back onto his face. It was an expression Sigrid knew all too well, one she’d seen more than once back in Lake-town when he hadn’t known she was looking.

“Oh, please don’t,” she said, blurting the words out before she could think better of it. “Please, Father, you don’t—you don’t have to look at me that way.” 

He stilled, watching her closely, his eyes sharpening on her face. “What way?”

Sigrid swallowed, flustered heat crawling up the back of her neck. “The way you looked after Mother died, when I had to begin watching over the household while you were on the river all day. Or on the nights that Bain and Tilda were sick and I stayed up to help you take care of them. I would see you with that same expression you have now, and you looked so… _guilty._ As though it was somehow your fault that I had to take on Mother’s responsibilities when I was so young.”

Her father blinked, and for a moment Sigrid thought he looked startled by her assessment, but then his face relaxed as he gave a wry chuckle. “Countless hours of keeping an impassive expression during negotiations and council sessions, and yet my daughter reads me like an open book,” he said. The words were rueful, but his voice warmed with affection and a hint of pride. “Your mother had an uncanny talent for that. It appears you’ve inherited it.”

Despite the nerves still fluttering in her stomach, Sigrid grinned. “Was Mother good at reading everyone’s faces, or just yours?”

He laughed at that, and Sigrid couldn’t help but join in. “Everyone’s,” he said, “but mine most of all.”

The moment of levity was all too brief, fading into quiet thoughtfulness as his expression turned serious once more. “Perhaps you’re right,” he said. “Much has happened to us that was outside our control. Even so…it’s hard not to be regretful, at times, to wonder if I could have done some things differently—then as well as now. I feel as though I’ve missed so much of your life.”

“Father…” Sigrid began, pushing away the hollow ache in her chest.

“That, for example,” Bard said, a sad smile flickering in his eyes. “When did you start calling me _Father_ instead of _Da_?” He sighed. “And what does it say about my ability to be a ruler who cares for the welfare of the common people when my own daughter has to linger outside my chambers for hours in hopes of catching an audience with me?”

“Father,” Sigrid said again. On an impulse she grabbed his hand, the sudden movement snapping him from his rapid descent into melancholy. “I don’t know what it’s like to be responsible for so many people, and I can’t imagine the sorts of pressures you face every day. But please, don’t be morose on my account. You don’t need to be. Of course I wish I could see you more often, but I understand why you’re so busy. We all do—Tilda and Bain and I.” She smiled, squeezing his hand. “I know you, Father. It’s _because_ you care so much for your subjects’ welfare that you stay up all night in your study, trying to make the kingdom better for all its citizens. And I have no qualms about sharing you with that responsibility.”

He stared at her for a long moment, and Sigrid waited with her eyes trained on him, forcing herself not to fidget. Then he released her hand to tug her back into his arms, holding her tightly, his beard scratchy against her forehead. 

“I think there’s more wisdom in you than in half of my advisors, for all their years of experience,” he said. His voice was thick, and she could feel his breath catch in his chest. “You truly have grown up.”

Sigrid closed her eyes and grinned, warmth spreading through her even as his words pricked at the back of her mind. 

“Which reminds me,” she said, cheek still pressed to his shoulder, “of what I wanted to speak with you about in the first place.”

“Ah,” Bard said, releasing her. “It must be important, for you to wait so long.”

“It is.” Her heartbeat quickened in an instant, pounding like a spooked horse galloping out of control, and she took a deep breath, willing the nerves to stay hidden. All her noblewoman’s poise deserted her, the refined grace and courtly smiles she’d worked so hard to attain somehow crumbling to dust under the intensity of her father’s gaze. She breathed a soundless prayer for calm, searching her mind’s clamor for the perfect words. 

“Tomorrow,” she said, “there will be a…young man who has requested an audience with you. To ask for your permission to court me.” The words wanted to come rushing out in an avalanche, but she held them back, forcing calm control into her voice. “And I came to ask you to please say yes.”

 _There, it’s done._ Relief gripped her, intense but short-lived as she waited, searching her father’s face. Any ability she’d had to read his expressions had vanished in an instant. Suddenly the man standing before her was no longer her loving father but a _king,_ stern and unknowable, powerful enough to slay a dragon with a single arrow and to determine her future with a single word. 

Dread curled in her stomach as the silence stretched, and she cast about for something more to say, something beyond begging or childish babbling—

The king’s quiet sigh interrupted her surge of panic, and her eyes darted back to his, her mouth parched and her heartbeat thundering in her ears.

But he was _smiling._

“Well, Sigrid,” he said. “I receive visits from half a dozen men a day, all asking for your hand. How am I to know which suitor is the one you fancy?”

Her eyes widened. “You—you do? Or are you teasing me?”

“I’m quite serious.” His chuckle was a little rueful. “Most of them are two or three times your age and pompous fools interested only in political gain, or otherwise entirely unworthy of you.”

“Oh.” She blinked, absorbing this new information. Sometimes it was still all too easy to forget she was no longer that common girl living in a shack by a lake, an urchin no one of standing would even consider. “Well, he—he isn’t pompous and he isn’t three times my age. He’s handsome and respectful and charming, and—he’s really just wonderful, Father.” She realized she was grinning like a fool, and she could feel the blush spreading across her cheeks, but couldn’t bring herself to care. “I think you’ll know him when you see him.”

“Very well.” Bard’s smile was bittersweet, almost wistful, as though he were remembering her as a little girl with jam on her face and pigtails in her hair. “You know I can’t give you a firm answer until I’ve had several thorough conversations with the young man, but I promise you, Sigrid, that nothing is more important to me than your happiness, both now and in the future.”

“Oh, thank you!” She clasped her hands in front of her, giving in to the urge to bounce on her toes, no matter how less-than-noble it was. “That’s all I ask. Thank you, Da.”

His smile turned to a grin at her use of the word _Da_. “Ah, there it is again.”

“You see?” She grinned back, leaning up to plant a kiss on his cheek. “Some things never change.”


End file.
